Amelotatism
by hongkongstar
Summary: Kink Meme fic. Prompt: CidLeon, Amputation. Acrotomophilia.


In the siege of Hollow Bastion, Leon's legs get crushed when a Behemoth busts the east wall down. No one can spare the magic for a cure, so he ends up losing most of them to gangrene before Cloud chops them off just above the knee and Aerith sears the bloody stumps closed with a sloppily done firaga. He ends up useless, bedridden, although there are no beds, propped up against a window with his gunblade cocked and shooting the stray Wyvern that drift up into his range. They end up breaking the siege without him, but where everyone expected him to get quieter, more retreated within himself, he attacks his duties in the rebuilding of their home with more vigour.

Still, it takes him time to get used to his new condition, and after driving Aerith and Merlin mad, Cid takes him in and takes over in helping him with the things he can no longer do on his own. He helps him in and out of the wheelchair, helps him dress, sits outside the bathroom when he bathes or goes to the toilet, rearranges his kitchen so everything Leon might want is within his reach. It's not something Cid ever saw himself doing; he's not naturally disposed to care giving. But he can't chuck the kid out – not because he feels bad, or that Leon doesn't really have anywhere else to go (except back to Aerith or Merlin), but because Cid's somehow developed some sick fascination with the scarred skin of Leon's useless thighs.

He ignores it, most of the time, but where that's a battle he's won over his mind, his body's not so inclined. He helps Leon dress and _doesn't _stare at his muscles flexing under angry red marks, _doesn't _let his hands linger there as he folds the fabric under, _doesn't _get a hard-on as Leon wraps his arms around his neck and lets himself be lifted off the bed and into the wheelchair, hard, bony ends of his stumps knocking against Cid's stomach and thighs. _Doesn't _sit outside the bathroom as Leon bathes, staring blankly at the gummy ship schematics in his lap, hands clenched into fists as he forces himself not to get up and go in there and run his fingers all over that angry, damaged flesh.

He doesn't do any of this, and that means Leon _can't _know, _can't _have noticed.

He's working late in the garage one night when a thunderstorm hits and the power goes out. He grumbles and clanks around and finally manages to dig out a flashlight and check the fuse box, but it's not fried, so it's gotta be the whole town. He's about to head out to the castle to check out if there's anything he can fix when he decides he'd better go in and make sure Leon's all OK and knows where he's gone. He went to bed hours ago, but knowing him, he woke up as soon as the first bolt of lightning struck.

When he gets to Leon's room, it looks like he was wrong. Leon appears to be asleep, sprawled out on his back, sheet rucked up around his waist, chest and… _legs_, bare. Cid ends up stuck in the doorway, the random flashes of lightning from outside highlighting the rough-smooth terrain of skin, twisted and taut over now rarely used muscles. He stands there for so, so much longer than he should do, and then Leon's eyes slit open, and he raises himself up onto his elbows. "Cid," he says, voice husky with sleep and steady with certainty.

Cid feels his face go cold, his hands go clammy. "Shit," he says. He's been caught; Leon _knows_. "Shit, I'm so fucking sorry kid," he says, and then he turns to leave, nausea clawing at his stomach.

"Cid," Leon says again, the sound of fabric shifting and something like a muttered curse. "Fucking come here already."

And Cid, he doesn't even think about it; his feet are moving, taking him closer until he's stood in front of Leon, breathing, unsure of what's happening, what will happen.

Leon, with no uncertainty and no lack of confidence, reaches out and presses one hand against Cid's already hard cock, curves his palm around the shape of it through his pants. Cid makes some sort of groan in the back of his throat, grinding forward into the pressure, and Leon's eyes, bright in the dark of the room, flick up from his hand to Cid's face. "Alright," he says, and starts working Cid's belt open.

Cid figures he's not really in complete control here, lets Leon take the lead, pull his pants down and shirt off and chuck them somewhere in the dark, tugs him down onto the bed with him and pulls Cid's hands down to the marred skin of his bare thighs. "Come on," he says. "It's what you want, isn't it?"

And it is, it so is, and Cid's hands move, pressing thumbs into muscle and flesh and the gnarled knots of scar tissue. He traces his fingers over the crooked marks like a map, hissing as Leon's hand finds his cock again, stroking him harshly and squeezing when Cid's hands drift under, to the thin skin stretched white over the ends of his femur bones. He's half hard too, cock nudging wetly at Cid's arm, hips jerking clumsily as Cid's fingers find a smooth dip of skin near where the back of his left knee used to be.

"Fuck," he mutters, and then he's pulling Cid closer, spreading his thighs open and guiding Cid's cock between them, closing them tight together, pulling at Cid's hip until Cid gives in and thrusts into the channel he's made. His hands still dig and press at the warped skin wrapping up the back of Leon's thighs, pulling him closer and tighter as he thrusts harder. Leon's hand knocks against his stomach as he jerks himself off, head tipped forward against Cid's shoulder, breath coming in hot pants between them, hair sticking to the sweat on Cid's chest and neck.

Leon squeezes his thighs together harder, muscles straining, and Cid loses it, coming hard in a mess between his thighs and across the front as he jerks away. "Shit," he says, as soon as he gets his breath back, and Leon makes a low groan in what sounds like affirmative, jerking himself off faster now. Cid thinks he should maybe really help him out there, but he's too fascinated with the streaks of his come painted across the damaged skin of Leon's thighs.

He rubs his hand over them, smearing his spunk over the knots and dips of scar tissue, presses his thumb sideways into one smooth patch and drags it upwards until it meets the clear, unmarred skin at Leon's upper thigh. He curls down, sheet bunching awkwardly under him, and slides his mouth over the place his thumb was, sucking and pressing his tongue into the rising and falling play of maimed flesh. He licks his come off of Leon's skin in long, sucking strokes, and Leon thrusts three more times into his fist and comes in thick spurts over the sheets and Cid's back.

Afterwards, Cid grabs up the corner of the sheet and makes some attempt at cleaning up the mess over Leon's thighs and his back, but can't seem to make himself look at Leon's face. He keeps his head lowered, wiping the sheet across Leon's skin, and opens his mouth to say something when Leon grabs his hand and pulls the sheet out of it, flinging it back towards the end of the bed.

"Just shut up," he says. "Shut up and stop thinking and go to sleep." Then he shifts, rolling over and doing just that. Cid, after a long pause where he just stares at the skin of Leon's back, a little dumbfounded, pushes his way closer (there's only so much room on the bed, after all,) grumbling and cursing under his breath until he gets comfortable with his face buried in the pillow and his hand haphazardly flung over Leon's side, and does what he's told.


End file.
